[STORY] Best Served Cold (Complete with Epilogue)

[gsheriston]

Best Served Cold
Part Nineteen - Recovery

Just me and the Mouse. Right now, that’s about as much as I can cope with. I virtually ran from the Memorial gardens in the end, Vanessa and Marek whisking me back to the hotel quickly and with minimum fuss. Both offered condolences, and said I was welcome to stay with them if I didn’t want to be alone; thankfully, they also understood when I said that alone is exactly what I wanted and told me that I’d be welcome to drop in if and when that changed. It’s good to know that someone cares, though at the moment it’s really not that important. Later, maybe – I can recognise the value, but right now I don’t need it. I need solitude, in a big way.

This crowded orbital shuttle is almost too much for me. The constant drone of conversation and air-conditioning is oppressive, as is the closeness of everyone around me. Being nudged and jostled everywhere, at random. Snippets of conversation impinge on my thoughts, such as they are, breaking the flow of them. I can't concentrate on anything, there's a pounding in my head like the worst excesses of the 'fuel. The smell, the movement, the colour, the noise... I have no space and no respite at all. Even in my seat there's someone beside me, the Teladi's scales whenever she moves rustling like a whole beach of pouring sand, against her painfully vibrant outer clothing. I’ve never suffered from claustrophobia, but I’m starting to understand it now. Is ‘social claustrophobia’ a real phenomenon? The masses of sensory input threaten to overwhelm me. At this point, I just need to be away. Doesn’t really matter where, just not here. I guess I’ve gotten used to being on my own in a ship, maybe I’ll take fewer passengers for a while. I’ll be back, I know. I have to visit the gardens again when it’s not surrounded, but it’s not the right time yet.

Walking down the main hangar-tube deck on the ring, I can see a familiar paint-job on a sharp-ish nose... My dear girl, I’ve left you alone for too long – hope you understand why I had to, though. I'm almost running. The Mouse is a talisman, once I get there I know I'll be cocooned. Safe. Alone. Closing the hatch on Nonny Mouse, settling into the flight couch and firing up the ship’s electronics gives me a strange sense of release, of relief, of ‘normal-ness’. I remember hearing once that sometimes if you don’t feel normal, doing your normal thing can make you feel normal. Cheesy, maybe – but surprisingly accurate it seems. Out of the mouths of babes... No fool, my Steve. Docking clamps release, and I’m finally free of this rock for a while. The ship flips end-over-end and boosts away from the docking area. Dear Lords I’d forgotten how fast this lady is...

I’m getting close to the ‘real’ sector now, stations appearing on the gravidar and the gates are visible. But I’m not going through any of them. I’m on a trajectory that will take me straight through the ecliptic and way above it. 70, maybe 100km above. 200, if I feel like it. The steady hum of the electronics and the faint whisper of the air system are soothing. I really, really hope nobody decides to disturb me now. Taking my hands off the controls, and just marvelling at the beauty of the starfield. It’s like having cool water being poured over my face on a hot day. All that time on the planet, and I’d forgotten what it was like out here. Freedom, complete freedom. Just for a short while, I close my eyes and drift. We’re out of the main sector ‘box’ now. The engines are still powering us along at a frightening pace, but there’s nothing out here except stray rocks and most of those are below ecliptic around the planet’s orbit. If I hit one, it'll solve a lot of problems - but that's unlikely.

Mouse and I are over 150km from the ecliptic. I’ve brought us to a halt, it’s not quite the middle of nowhere, but I can see it from here. One of Cora’s favourite phrases, that. Always brought a smile to her face whenever I used it trying to describe where I was in the network. Reorienting the ship to point at the planet, I realise that I’m actually over the northern continent and looking down I can have a fair old stab at roughly where Panathora is. I’d have a better chance if I was doing this during the city’s night, of course. And if I say Panathora’s there, then just a little North and East... BalaShandra is just about there. I could be kilometres out, of course. But it doesn’t matter, it’s my little connection to where they are. And out here, who is there to argue with me?

I’m alone with my thoughts, and the Harrier. I’ve been out here – oh, I don’t know how long. Stazura, maybe. Just watching. Not even really thinking, though every now and again I’ll hear a familiar voice singing or laughing. It doesn’t worry me much. I think I’ve realised that if I don’t keep hearing them, then they’re truly lost to me – that those random memories that come back are really all I have left. Those, and the hologram in my inside pocket. The stone on the surface is there to mark their memories, not their remains. It’s there because I put it there, not because it’s where they are. To a certain extent, it didn’t matter where it was placed – or really if it was placed, now I think about it. But Susu Na was right, painful as it was, I think the ceremony helped. It was only a few stazuras ago, but I do feel a bit less frayed. Like a lot of the debilitating grief was wrung out of me, listening to Beth’s piece, or staring up at the hologram, or in those mizuras I don’t remember, after it was all over and I was alone in the chapel.

Being out here, though, I think I understand what Sarma meant about wanting to be away from everyone.

“...so I want to die out here, where it’s pretty. Away from all the horrors of people and what they do to each other. Just float away into nothing, watching the stars rise over a cloud-wrapped planet...”

With what she said directly about her suffering, and what she implied, I could understand her decision. I’m sitting here myself watching the stars rise over a cloud-wrapped planet, just as she wanted to. And strangely, it seems I’m finding peace here. I hope she did, before she was finally gone. It would be so easy, just put the helmet on, pop the hatch and follow her example. I’d see them all soon enough. So easy, just a few mizuras of discomfort at the end. In fact - I could even program the suit to inject some carbon monoxide into the air mix after a time. Just drift out, watch for a while then gently go to sleep before all the oxygen is gone. It’s so tempting...

[gsheriston]

Just caught up. Very good.

To be honest, if this were my story, I probably would've found some way to avoid all this part. But you did it, and you made it incredibly good.

Great stuff.

Thanks, Zig! I got the topic reply notification while I was reviewing part 19 - so you're not quite caught up yet

Though I have to say there were times I wish I'd avoided it too. I didn't find it easy.

[SOTS]

So tempting indeed, but then where would he find his revenge? In that special flavour of closure provided with wanton violence against those who have wronged you?

Not the last we've seen of our struggling protagonist, I feel.

[Thalass]

Great story! I look forward to seeing it grow.

[Trigger1112]

This is so good i'm running out of new words to describe it.[ external image ]

You should be a professional writer (if your not already).

[gsheriston]

You should be a professional writer (if your not already).

Only of software... And it's nowhere near as much fun as this! But thank you for such kind words. Not convinced I could create a universe or world from scratch, but since Egosoft left this one lying around for us to play in...



Best Served Cold
Part Twenty - Resolve

The hiss of escaping air dies rapidly as there’s nothing left to carry it. The hatch is open, and I drift lazily out of the Mouse – nothing between me and the stars but this flimsy suit and helmet. Everything is programmed and ready. What would revenge accomplish anyway? Is there any point, except causing more bloodshed and suffering? Far better to end things this way, painless, peaceful and quiet – and soon.

I’ve set a timer on the suit for carbon monoxide injection in a stazura or so, then broken the display. I don’t want to watch my mizuras ticking away to nothing, not after going to all this effort to make it painless and virtually undetectable. I haven’t left a note. There’s no point, whoever found it wouldn’t care. Maybe that’s harsh, I saw Sarma’s recording, and I cared. Perhaps I’m too quick to judge. Not that it matters now, of course. For a few mizuras I just watch the planet turn. A few tears course gently down my cheeks at particularly poignant memories of my family.


“Can I have a keyboard?” Beth’s voice was eager, with an urgency I’d not heard from her before in all her fourteen jazuras. We’d had lots of glowing reports from her music teacher, about her enthusiasm and creativity. It wasn’t matched by those from her mathematics or science teachers, clearly music had taken her interest. Seeing her seated at it for the first time a couple of wozuras later, her eyes alight as she pushed almost random buttons on the face of it was an amazing thing – a transformation.

A jazura later, almost her fifteenth, and she was seated at it again. Now, though, it was a little more used. The keys could use cleaning, there were kharve rings on the top where she’d forgotten to pick up a mat and strewn across the width of it were pages and pages of musical notation. All in pencil, numerous faded marks the last reminders of erased notes. Fingers moved with confidence, selecting voices, harmonies, programming the sequencer. Those same fingers now stretched, interlaced, stretched again and started to dance over the keys. Every now and then, there would be a dark muttering as a note was missed, or was hit but deemed to be the wrong note on the score – swiftly erased and replaced, then the performance began again.

“Care to dance, Mr. Danna?” Cora grabbed my arm and pulled me into the centre of the lounge. Beth could barely play for laughing as I stumbled my way through some of the steps we’d danced at our wedding- but seeing someone dance to her tune just drove her on.


Sleep will come soon. And with it, I’ll see them again. I’ll give up forever the notion of avenging their murder. Wouldn’t bring them back anyway. My eyes are starting to get heavy, even now, without the assistance of an altered air supply. It would be so easy to just drift off to sleep...

…so, so easy…


“Scott? SCOTT! Wake up. It’s time.” I swear every expectant father has heard those words. At least we were prepared this time, Cora had her things packed in a bag I could pick up on the way out of the door. Two previous experiences of rushing around trying to pack everything she would need and on one occasion bundle up a ten-jazura-old Beth with Cora in labour and getting close to delivery had taught us a lot.

She got out of bed awkwardly, her breathing heavy and she gasped as a contraction hit her. Beth knew it was getting close, so she wasn’t really surprised when I woke her. “We’re going to the hospital, Beth. Shouldn’t be long, now. I’ll wave you when there’s news, but for now I need you to keep an eye on Steve for us.” “Mmph. ‘Kay, Dad. Good fortune to Mum.” Beth was only twelve jazuras old and shouldn’t really be left alone to look after her brother – but with Steve likely to sleep through the night, she would be fine. I’d be back as soon as I could be, maybe even before he woke up. Beth would be awake in a few mizuras anyway, when the reality sunk in that her sister was imminent.

Cora was ready for me when I returned from Beth’s room. I helped her down the stairs and snagged her bag from the hall as she waddled out through the door to the skimmer. At two hours after midnight, the streets were empty. Cora waved ahead to BalaShandra hospital as I eased the skimmer out onto the roads and started on our way.


The big beige rock in the distance lights up this whole area with reflected sunlight. Even through the tinted visor it’s difficult to look at directly for any length of time. I stop squinting and let my eyes close fully.


“Curse you, Danna! This is all your fault, I’ll never let you touch me again!” She was having a hard time of the labour. She might not want me to touch her again, but if she squeezed my hand any harder she’d break three of my fingers. I know it’s just the pain talking rather than her, but it still stings a bit and I feel very guilty that she hurts and I don’t. I had a part in this too, after all. “Maybe, but right now you have to breathe! Remember your exercises. Start now. Breathe. Again. Again. That’s right. Good. You’re doing well, love. it won’t be long. Keep going.” I tried to keep a level, calm voice – trying to keep her calm. It didn’t work.

“Don’t patronise me! AaaaAAAAARGH!!”

It wasn’t going well. The doctor had stopped his own encouragement and was talking seriously to the nurse who then walked smartly out of the delivery room. I heard her start running in the corridor once the door was closed. A mizura later, she came back wheeling a trolley with a strange-looking device on it. Mostly dials and switches, but in the centre was a... disturbance... in space. The air looked silvery, twisted and knotted in that area, constantly shifting. Lights flashed through it on curved paths that defied the knots. It hurt my eyes to look too closely. The doctor spoke to us both.

“We have a little bit of a problem. The baby has turned, and she’s in distress. The cord is caught around her, so we have to take some emergency action. We’re going to use a medical transporter device to deliver her. Cora, this is really important. You need to STOP pushing, and relax. You have to stay very still now, while we lock onto your daughter. Can you do that?” Her nod wasn’t really visible to him, so I passed on the message. She gripped tighter and I felt my fingers groan in protest. The transporter was active now, and that knot in space roiled faster as the lights grew impossibly bright. A whine just on the edge of hearing built up in the room , and a low hum emanated from the transporter. The nurse called out to the doctor. “I think I’ve got her – check for me” Peering over her shoulder, the doctor nodded once. “That’s it. Activate.” Abruptly , the noises got much louder and the lights flared yet brighter in the area I couldn’t watch. Then, a new noise made itself heard. Alice’s first cry reverberated around the room, and the transporter activity died away. I felt Cora’s hand go limp in mine, then give a much more gentle squeeze.

“Why couldn’t we have done that a stazura ago?” Her voice was very weak, but she smiled...


The air tastes just a little different. Have I been asleep? Did I dream? How long was I out? Maybe this is the carbon monoxide coming in? Don’t know. Didn’t realise spacewalking could be so tiring, but then it’s probably the longest I’ve been out in a suit like this...


Steve was crying. One of his friends said her aunt had been shot down by a Pirate, and now I had to go back into space again. He didn’t want me to. He’s convinced that I won’t come back, that being shot down by Pirates is a common thing, happens to everyone. There’s no real urgency to leave, but I should get back to the Mercury today. Only trouble is, there’s a sobbing six-jazura old hanging off my leg round about knee height pleading with me not to go.

“Don’t go, Daddy. Stay here with us. Stay here…”


Stay here. Don’t go. But I’m so close to going. It would be so easy to let go, so easy…

Steve doesn’t want me to let go. Wants me to stay. Maybe I should stay. Getting really, really sleepy. SO easy to fall asleep... Steve wants me home. Should get there, back home...

Have to get back to… um… ship. Blinking doesn’t help. Head feels foggy. Controls... thrust... It’s working. I can see it getting closer, but the air’s not right. What’s wrong with the air controls? Broken? How’d that happen? Got to fix them. Easier in the ship. If I can get there. About 200m away. Set the suit to fly back. Got to get more oxygen into my mix. Or less of… of… something. Got to remember. Important.

150m. Fumbling fingers can’t work the controls. Maybe I should take a glove off? That would help. Won’t budge. Locked on, where’s the lock? So tired…

100m. Eyes keep closing, can’t really see much. Big blur up ahead, red and silver. Looks familiar, and getting bigger all the time. What’s the beeping noise? A warning or something?

50m. The blur’s a ship. Hope I can sleep on it. Hatch is open, let’s aim for that. Anybody home?

Hatch’s closed and I’m inside. Nobody here. Have to sleep now. Helmet’s uncomfortable, I’ll take it off… Jus’ a li’l sleep...

A few mizuras later, and I’m waking up, starting to feel more alert. With the hatch closed again, the air system’s restarted and flooding the cockpit with O2 – it’s filtered out the carbon monoxide too, because I’ve not fiddled with it. At least the suit’s internal air mix closed off when I broke seal on the helmet. I hope I don’t need the suit again because with the air control display wrecked – it’s a lottery whether I’d get any O2 at all. Got to replace it, and soon.

I can’t escape the cold fact that I’ve just come closer to death than I’ve ever been before. Even the scrap with the Nova wasn’t that dangerous, and I did this all by myself. No matter what the galaxy throws at me now, anything that takes me that close to the edge will almost certainly carry me over it too. Anything less, and it won’t be nearly as dangerous. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, yes? That’s what people say – Split, in particular.

But oh, Gods it would have been so easy to just let go. So easy... ...And it would have solved nothing. There is still a pirate base out there, and now the scum who took them from me had almost killed me, too. I could take the easy way out, yes. But not yet. First, I have work to do. Stowing the helmet carefully nearby, my head starts clearing properly and I start thinking about what to do next.

I could go back to the surface, visit the Garden – but Susu Na warned me that could be a bit of a trap and if I can side-step that for a while it might be useful. I don’t need to be there to remember them, after all. I can (and I do) remember them anywhere. I have a number of priorities to sort out. Firstly I need to get a new spacesuit, to replace the broken one I’m wearing. Then, get Sarma’s Peace moving again. After that, I need to sort out my Paranid and Split reputation. Right now, I’d be turned away from core sectors by both of them- possibly at gunpoint. After that? Well, that’s where it gets tricky. I could really use a jumpdrive but I don’t think the Goner will sell one to me. Same with a transporter device. They’re phenomenally useful in multi-ship operations, I’m told. Not that I’ve ever been in that position before now. With three vessels to my name, I guess that makes me an Admiral. Or is it Commodore? Does it matter? Not really...

[Tenlar Scarflame]

You're quite a skilled writer, gs. And I'm certainly dying to see Danna throw some more hot death at a pirate or two...

[Trigger1112]

For a moment i thought he was actually going to end it all![ external image ]

Cant wait for the next part.

[gsheriston]

Best Served Cold
Part Twenty-One - Trespasser

It’s hard to believe that just a tazura ago I was down on the planet, cutting an Onybara from Vanessa’s garden, choosing the best bloom, the richest colour and strongest aroma. Just a tazura since Beth’s friends played her piece to an audience who didn’t know how to react, and I laid that bloom on a stone in the rain. It all seems so far away, and I guess in distance terms it is. And in some psychological ones, too. I’m on the other side of one of the most painful stazuras of my life, and had been probably just mizuras from the end of that life. I guess you could say I’m a very different Scott Danna from the one who woke up on the surface. But... dwelling on all that won’t help anything or anyone. I’ve had my stazura of grief, and I’m sure there will be more to come. For now, though, I have to try and put it behind me, no matter how empty and weary I feel.

A quick trip to the equipment dock, and I have a fully-functioning space-suit again. On the way I’ve put Sarma’s Peace back to work and the credit balance is hopefully going to start climbing again. One of these tazuras, I should go out that way and look her over; it’s occurred to me that once I’d claimed her I was in a bit too much of a state to really look around and by the time I’d recovered she was earning me credits... Who knows what might still be in there? In fact, I’m going to make that my number one priority. It’s something simple, not at all taxing, and something I can accomplish quickly. Perfect for taking my mind off how I’m feeling for a little while. Split and Paranid docking rights can wait for a couple of tazuras more, surely. She’s on her way to Kingdom’s End, so now that’s where I’ll go. Just to make it interesting, I’ll race her!

Mouse wins, of course. Antigone Memorial to Kingdom End in an ex-Pirate Harrier Raider takes almost no time. Three Worlds still fills me with an enormous sense of loss, though, when I look out at the space by the North gate where I’d planned to put our station. One tazura, Cora – one tazura I’ll do it for you. For all of you.

The South gate of Kingdom End is very, very close to the East gate. By sheer chance, I arrive within a mizura of Sarma’s Peace – spotting her arrival on the sector map, I double back and set the autopilot to follow her. I’m a little curious to see how the transporter’s autopilot copes with the length of the ship in this mass of floating rock – and as I get closer, I realise how it’s been done in the past. There are huge gouges and scars on her flanks, particularly near the tail-end, presumably from mini-asteroid impacts... The autopilot is coping by – well, by not really coping at all. Maybe following her closely isn’t such a smart move. One thing’s for sure, once she’s dropped off her e-cells it’s a trip to the shipyard for the poor girl.

The repairs have taken a chunk out of my balance, but not as much as I’d feared. Thankfully, it was all mostly cosmetic damage with just a couple of buckled panels to replace and a twisted spar or three. To be honest I could have done a lot of the work myself, but it would have been much more awkward for me as it would have meant time in vacuum. Right now, I’m not keen on that. Something about a close brush with oblivion can do that to a man, I guess. Well, before I send her back out into the wilds of Boron space, I’m going to look around the interior a bit more closely. It’s certainly much easier to move in here now I’m not wearing a spacesuit. First, though, a systems check. That might give me a few clues as to the interior layout. At least now I know my way to the bridge, looking out over the whole length of the ship. Just up this gangway, in fact...

It feels a little odd settling back into the pilot’s chair. As if I’m waiting for Sarma to come through the cockpit door or something. It’s a bit creepy, and I don’t think I’ll ever fly the ship myself. It doesn’t feel like this is my ship – almost like I’m an interloper, and shouldn’t be here. Scanning back through the computer’s retrieval systems there’s Sarma’s message still saved in the log, and it’s the only entry there – but also there are some personal files still left in the main storage area. I guess it would be classed as snooping but I don’t think Jak or Sarma would particularly care now. It does heighten that feeling of being a trespasser. But... This looks particularly interesting, dated about nine wozuras before Sarma’s final message.

Code: Select all

From: Farnsworth Financial Holdings

Subject: Credit agreement expiration

Mr. Koshi,

Our records show that you have failed to make payments against this agreement for the past three mazuras.  While we attempt to work with all our clients to resolve financial difficulties, you have not responded to any contact from this office.  As such, we declare the credit agreement null and void.  Collectors have been notified and will make contact soon to seize goods to the value of your outstanding debt which we currently show as 314,948 Cr.

Our collectors have very specific orders.  Please do not attempt to prevent them carrying out their duties as the consequences would be severe.

Dominic Farnsworth

Hmmm. A name. Something more than ‘that one-eyed Argon loan-shark’, at least. I have my own tasks to attend to – this pressing business of the destruction of a Pirate base, for example – but maybe this could give me something else to aim for. I’ll certainly file the name away for future use, I have a video I’d like to show him for example. Maybe it wasn’t Farnsworth himself that killed Jak, or assaulted Sarma – but if it wasn’t, then it was someone acting on his orders. A price would still have to be paid, I think. The least of which would be giving me the name of that employee...

Running a quick search on the computer for Farnsworth turns up a couple more documents – including the terms of the agreement, one of which was a somewhat crippling 39% JPR. Personally I’d say that was criminal, even if the method of collection wasn’t – but the fact is, Jak was murdered for this debt. To me, that’s a crime. So was the horror visited on Sarma, and considering what it did to her that was a murder in all but name. I can feel a Split Shift descending over me, just like it did in Rolk’s Fate before I acquired BlockBuster. Two lives ended, for missing some payments on an agreement (however ill-advised Jak was to sign it) that was so biased against them it should have been illegal in the first place. It might well have been an unlicensed agreement, in fact. The more I think about it, wouldn’t Farnsworth need to have secured a court order to seize goods? No mention of one – therefore I’m guessing it was an illegal agreement and debt recovery.

Where are these people? Time to extend the search... Rather than just looking in the ship’s computer I connect to the shipyard’s public network and scan the financial services directory on GalNet.

When I rule the Universe, I’ll get rid of the single-station bulletin boards, and have a single page on GalNet for each sector – a ‘services required’ list or something. Better yet – make it a ‘paid-for’ service, and make sure I’m the one getting paid... Though... If I’m in charge, it’s not called ‘getting paid’, is it? If I’m in charge, it’s called ‘collecting taxes’.

Farnsworth is a common name in the Eastern Argon sectors around Omicron Lyrae, it seems. But not in this area. Only three listed on this side of the Galaxy, two in Cloudbase South West appear to be a father and daughter team working out of the Trading Station– the other is just listed as ‘Farnham’s Legend’. I know which one my money would be on. I might just have to pay these people (I use that term in its loosest sense) a visit one tazura.

Right now though, I’m tired. Genuinely tired, not just on the verge of carbon monoxide poisoning. Though I’m sure there’s still some in my system somewhere. I remember it bonds very well to a blood component, the iron-based one, so it might be a while before I’m completely free of it. Since I’m not too far from Menelaus’ Frontier I might pay Dr. Kramer a visit soon, see what he has to say on the subject. Maybe Susu Na, too. Though, the Boron psychiatrist might be a bit much, given how I’ve just proved him right on the suicide attempt percentage he gave me. We’ll see.

This is a TP-class ship, designed for passengers- that means passenger quarters or at least crew quarters. Calling up the schematics ought to be fairly straightforward; it’s part of the diagnostic package in the Mercury, so that's where I'll start. Life support is on everywhere, the energy drain is nominal, temperature matches the set parameters- though I don’t yet know which menu options set them. Structurally she’s sound, air seals are holding, cargo compression is at maximum strength and engine logs show no deviation from nominal parameters. Great, she’s in perfect working order. Better than me, at the moment. And I’m no closer to finding the crew quarters, which is the main job right now. Life support settings? Sounds like what I’m looking for. Finally! The prize – a ship layout, with temperature settings for each cabin. All of them set to ‘local control’ which means they’re set to ‘whatever the occupant requests’, but I could override them all from here if I wanted to. I choose the biggest cabin and make my way there.

The cabin is pretty sparse – just a bed, some hanging space for clothes and that’s about it. Sanitary facilities are communal so I guess this was either going to be a ‘quick trip’ tour ship or Jak and Sarma hadn’t fitted the interior out fully before their deaths. It doesn’t feel right at all in here. Definitely a sense of ‘not belonging’, though any registry check will show that this is my ship, legally. There’s something else, too. It’s very, very quiet and I’m not used to that. I’ve spent so much time in cramped fighters and only slightly less-cramped sleep cells since I left Light of Heart in Crystal Chaser that the sense of so much enclosed space with nobody else in it is a little disturbing. However, I’m desperately tired. Lying on the bed without even undressing, I’m listening to the little noises every ship makes – the air filtration, the coolant and heating systems, computer chatter, generators... And all of it is far, far quieter than I’m used to. There’s an awful feeling of isolation in here, despite the creepy sensation that there’s someone watching. However, all the sounds of the ship lull me gently before they suddenly get really far away and sleep swoops in to carry me off...

The pirate backs away and raises his arms, his shadow falling across First Steps’ cabin and blocking out the flashing light of the nearby mine. The edges of the suit grow indistinct as it dissolves in slow motion...

The pirate backs away and raises his arms, his shadow falling across First Steps’ cabin and blocking out the flashing light of the nearby mine. A mass of crazed lines spread quickly across the suit as the individual pieces separate and move away in all directions...

The pirate backs away and raises his arms, his shadow falling across First Steps’ cabin and blocking out the flashing light of the nearby mine. The suit bulges, rips and tears as the pirate explodes scattering fragments of fabric over the ship...

The pirate backs away and raises his arms, his shadow falling across First Steps’ cabin and blocking out the flashing light of the nearby mine. The helmet fills with smoke and goes black, then flames burst from the seams and the fabric is swiftly consumed as the pirate burns within...

The pirate backs away and raises his arms, his shadow falling across First Steps’ cabin and blocking out the flashing light of the nearby mine. The suit shrinks quickly to a tiny point of light, impossibly bright. It flares once, then dies away...

The pirate backs away and raises his arms, his shadow falling across First Steps’ cabin and blocking out the flashing light of the nearby mine. His right arm lowers behind his back, and as it whips round again he’s holding something – a hot ball of white plasma arcs towards me...

I awake with one of those ‘fake falls’, where you seem to have landed on the bed from a height of about a meter without ever having moved. According to the clock in the cabin, I’ve been out cold for almost half a tazura. How much of that is because I’d had a busy tazura, how much of it was the undisturbed silence, and how much was the after-effects of carbon monoxide poisoning I guess I’ll never know. Seeing that pirate die again and again and again hasn’t done me any favours. I do feel refreshed though, so I guess I managed quite a lot of rest in between nightmares. The sanitary station might be communal, but since I’m the full extent of the community- it’s pretty exclusive. Stepping under the shower I start thinking about what to do next. Breakfast seems high on the priority list, and somewhere down the bow of the ship I had seen on the plans there is a galley. Not that I expect to find anything in it, but it’s worth a look.

A few mizuras later, I’m looking around the compact but surprisingly well-equipped galley. And wonder of wonders, that ‘equipment’ includes a fair amount of food! Vacuum-sealed, yes – but food, definitely. Sitting down to hot kharve and warm pastries feels almost civilised. Munching on a raisin-and-chocolate confection, I start thinking about the upcoming tasks. I need, in no particular order, M3- or M6-class transport, plenty of high-powered weaponry for said ship – possibly Shockwave generators for something the size of a Pirate base. Jumpdrive. Docking computer. Massive quantities of cash. Solar Power Plant. Another Mercury to sell the e-cells, and another Disco Raider to chase Crystals. Then I need the name and the location of the bottom-feeding scum-sucking lowlife who dares to belong to my species and yet still carry out the acts committed against Jak and Sarma. I don’t know why I feel so strongly about this, it’s not my responsibility, and it’s not like I knew either of them. But I do, and someone is going to regret that fact...

[Tenlar Scarflame]

Ahhh, very nice. A more immediate objective...

In all seriousness, this is a fantastic story. Dan's inner battles are completely draining, but you always manage a refreshing break like this one where his resolve comes back.

[Trigger1112]

Another great episode.And about time too.

[SOTS]

Aaaaand, the Punisher vibe makes a strong comeback.

I agree with Tenlar here, and always feel happier for Danna when he manages to bring his head above the tide again. Can't help but feel for the guy.

[gsheriston]

Best Served Cold
Part Twenty-Two - Brief Encounter

It’s refreshing, having a sense of purpose again. It’s starting to dawn on me now that all I’ve been doing since I left Loli Pa’s bar in Herron’s Nebula is essentially wasting time. Keeping myself busy, so I didn’t have to think about what I’ve lost, or what I had to do, or how I was going to do it. I think Susu Na really had a point about needing that service to kinda draw a line under the mourning period and start on the recovery phase. One of these tazuras, I’ll drop in and say thank-you with some high-quality BoFu. Something else that’s interesting, I haven’t felt the need for a spacefuel since the service either. I just hope that Pirate nightmare isn’t going to become a regular feature.

So... I still need a bigger ship. It doesn’t have to be immediately, BlockBuster has proven that it’s up to the task even of taking on the mighty Nova. Well, it is as long as the pilot stays alert and doesn’t make stupid approach vectors, anyway. I will however need a lot more money to buy or even outfit M3-class ships. M6 doesn’t really bear thinking about, even if anyone trusted me enough to sell me one – which they don’t. I still have my Split/Paranid docking issues to resolve, and right now I can’t buy a jumpdrive from the Goner. I wonder if Terracorp would still sell one to me? I haven’t checked in there for a while. And, if I’m heading for Paranid space it’s not too much of a detour. Right. That’s the plan, then. Time to finish up here on Sarma’s Peace and get her on her way again, jump back into the Mouse and send BlockBuster to meet me at TerraCorp.

Checking the other passenger cabins, there’s one with a few signs of habitation – a holo on the bedside table shows Jak and Sarma smiling on a beach, on the wall is a pair of indoor images. One of each of them, looking very glamorous; clearly one of those professional sessions, where you can go and be made up and holographed; you feel like a star for a day, before they extort huge quantities of cash to actually get hold of the images. I’d suggested one to Cora a few jazuras ago, who simply laughed and said even a professional couldn’t get either of us to look like a holostar. I told her that in her case it wasn’t necessary, I would rather have her beside me than anyone we’d seen on screen. I thought she looked like one anyway and didn’t have the overactive ego to match.

Clearly, I’d wandered into the Koshi’s personal quarters. Again, it felt much like trespassing, but I opened every drawer, cupboard, wardrobe – it didn’t take long- and loaded what little there was left into a single small suitcase. Sarma had obviously done much of the work herself, leaving only a few books and music cubes, and a couple of holo albums. I could imagine her sitting on the edge of the bed flicking through those, with some music playing as she tried to come to terms with the direction her life had taken. Turning the pages, and making that awful final decision. I’m not surprised that whatever she had done with the rest of their effects she could not part with the albums; I wouldn’t be surprised if wherever she was there was a couple of holos in her suit, maybe even a whole album in her hands. There’s so little here, it would be pointless to vaporise them. And who knows, I may yet show them to a one-eyed Argon loan shark. Better to keep them safe, for now. Taking them back to the cabin I’ve designated as my quarters, I stowed them away in a storage locker and left the ship.

The Mouse feels very, very small after all that open space. Watching the TP’s thrusters move her away from the Shipyard, I contact BlockBuster and start her moving towards TerraCorp. She’s shielded, but not really armed – I’ve sent her to Argon Prime and then South, rather than letting her go South first then through President’s End. Moving through those sectors, she should be fairly safe.

I might have been a bit disturbed by the isolation on Sarma’s Peace, but I still feel a bit socially claustrophobic. So, even if someone does want to go South into Argon space they’ll need to find a different ship. Slipping free of the docking clamps, I can still see the TP’s thrusters and lights. I boost towards her and circle once before peeling off South and through into Three Worlds. This time, there’s barely a flicker of emotion – just a wistful glance at the empty space where there should be a Solar Power Plant.

What’s that? I’m almost in range of the South gate when a red blip appears on the Gravidar. It’s tagged as M3 class, so I open the sector map to examine it. A cold lump forms in my stomach. Turning away from that blip and opening the throttles, I open the emergency channel.

“Three Worlds Sector Patrols, M5 Nonny Mouse reporting Khaak activity, sector South West. One Cluster, still intact. Size unknown.”

I’d heard similar calls before, and fled like all the demons of the nine hells were chasing me, but had never made one myself. Never even seen a Khaak vessel until now, and that was as close as I wanted to get. I’d heard enough stories in bars from people who had claimed to be attacked to know I didn’t want to be any closer. Certainly not in an M5.

“Acknowledged, Nonny Mouse. M6 Thunderchild moving to intercept. All civilian ships, evacuate the South-West quadrant at maximum speed.”

I don’t need to be told twice, I’m already on my way out. A few sezuras later the sky lights up with a number of jumpdrive events as other, better equipped ships make emergency moves of their own – some will have just jumped to other gates in the sector, others will have gone to nearby sectors. By the South gate ahead of me, though, there is a different kind of flash. Not white, like a jumpdrive event. It’s yellow and orange, more like an explosion. Two ships had jumped to the South gate at the same time, and collided on re-entry. Slowing to avoid the debris, I scan the four spinning cargo crates that were the ships’ sole remains. Ore, Cahoonas, more energy cells than I could fit into Sarma’s Peace, and crystals. If I had a jumpdrive-equipped Mercury, I could have ordered it here and scooped the lot – but I don’t have one, so I can’t.

Off to my right, battle is unfolding. With the autopilot set to take me to TerraCorp HQ, I watch on the monitor. It was going badly for the Sector Patrol. The cluster had broken apart, and tens of tiny bright lances were scoring hits on the Corvette. Every now and again, one would venture too close or on an ill-advised path and be blown asunder by the main guns or shot down by a turret as the M6 twisted and turned trying to follow the M3-class fighter that was the main threat; but it was too quick, too agile and too nimble to be caught easily. Pulling away from the larger ship, the Khaak fighter spun in space and unleashed its trio of beams on the Thunderchild. As the ponderous Centaur tried to turn to bring her weapons to bear, the fighter fired once more then moved again. More of the smaller scouts died as the turrets picked them off, but they were doing their job- death by a thousand cuts. The shields of the M6 were now down, and every needle laid on her pierced the hull. The fighter looped again, before the Argon pilot could respond, and once more the searing light played over the Corvette. This time though, they struck home – and melted the Thunderchild’s valiant heart.

As Mouse lines up on the South gate, I can see Argon fighters converging on the wreck and picking off the remaining Khaak – they have far more success than the Corvette, and are closing on the fighter when I reach the gate event horizon and feel the familiar surge and lurch. Shortly after re-entry, the emergency channel lights up.

“All ships, Cloudbase North West Sector patrol. Be advised, Khaak activity in Three Worlds, do not enter the sector until all-clear is sounded. Do not enter Three Worlds until the threat has been neutralised.”

Thundering on south through the sector, I check on BlockBuster’s progress. She’s just entered The Wall, so I’ll reach TerraCorp some time before the M4 arrives. We’ll see what’s available in terms of transport opportunities, in that case – but let’s get there first.

“All ships, Cloudbase North West Sector patrol. Be advised, Khaak activity in Three Worlds has been neutralised. Sector is safe to enter. Repeat, Three Worlds is safe to enter.”

I just hope the crew of the Thunderchild is OK. The ship didn’t actually explode, but she looked crippled by the time I left the sector. I’m not sure why they sent her after the cluster alone, surely she would have done much better with some support. Maybe they were hoping to catch the cluster intact and wipe it out before it separated? One thing’s for sure, I’ll never know.

“Entering system: Home of Light” Ahead and off to my left is my destination, TerraCorp HQ. Legend surrounds this place, how it came to be built, its founder, and some of its more... um... colourful employees. All fascinating stuff, especially about how the founder was supposed to be from the Terran empire that recently showed up in Heretic’s End then promptly closed the sector to all Commonwealth shipping, and how he was instrumental in the destruction of the Xenon M0-class battlecruiser that would have laid waste to all sectors eventually. Interesting rumour I picked up jazuras ago says that the M0 wreck is still out there somewhere. Nobody seemed too clear on exactly where, though, and nobody has the faintest scrap of evidence... I’m sceptical, myself.

All fascinating, indeed – but I’m only concerned with one thing. Will they sell me the magic box? Settling into the short cruise, I contact the station for a price list. And there it is, a jumpdrive, in red. So- no, they won’t sell it. Looking around the form, though, I can see the ‘reputation’ marker required that I haven’t reached yet – and it’s empty. Which means... Oh. Of course. No, they’re not going to sell it to someone in a Harrier Raider, because it won’t fit. But when BlockBuster gets here, it’s mine! All mine! That will make things so much easier. As the docking clamp shakes the Mouse, I’m feeling much, much better than I have for tazuras. I’m going to the bar, and I’m going to order the biggest Atreus’ Sunrise they’ve ever seen.

[Blown]

War of the Worlds Reference...

Not a bad one either, the musical or the book though, cause that lines verbatim from the musical, and I can't remember if it was used in the book.

[SOTS]

Heh, I used pretty much the same one in one of the later chapters of Siege. But then the ship (a destroyer, in mine) was just one among many, so it was slightly different situation. Still had all those flashing heat rays piercing the deck, though

Keep it coming, gs

[gsheriston]

I always say if you're going to steal, make sure you steal from the best Having seen the live show twice and heard the musical several times then that's definitely where it comes from - I can't remember if the specific phrase is in the book either. I'm sure most of us will have a Thunderchild kicking around somewhere in our various stories, it's a great name for a ship about to make a noble sacrifice!

Next part is under way, and it's going to be more X-ish than recent chapters. I'm sure Scott will get caught up in his emotions from time to time, after all I'd imagine losing his family like that you can't just switch it all off, but Danna is back in the deep black. Still has all his anger management problems, has one whole group and one very specific person to be hacked off with, and is only ever one spacefuel away from a serious relapse.

Watch this space...

[The Zig]

Good stuff.
Man, patrol warnings in X would be sooo good. It sucks jumping through a gate just to find twenty enemy pointed at you! I dunno who's played X-BTF, but that was particularly bad for this!

Missed the War of the World's reference. Of course I last read that about five years ago, so it's been a while! Wells is really amazing. Though he started to lose focus in the later stuff imo.

So now Scott's on the long haul up to having some money in the X-Universe, eh? Good luck to him.
Capping FTW, if he wants my advice.
Or I can think of one interesting short-cut...

[SOTS]

@Zig: Gouging out an eye and becoming an Argon loan-shark?

[Tenlar Scarflame]

One day Scott will electronically submit a name change for himself.

He will be drunk and call himself Thereshallbewings.

From there, galactic domination...

[gsheriston]

Best Served Cold
Part Twenty-Three - Making a Name

With the jumper now firmly installed in BlockBuster, and the weapons transferred across from the Mouse, I’m now ready to go and repair my reputation among the Paranid. Partly this is because I want a docking computer, but mostly because I’d worked hard to become respectable in Paranid eyes (all three of ‘em) and for all their ‘faults’ as some see them, I actually quite like the Paranid. Their technological expertise is second-to-none and Paranid space is always frighteningly well-policed. The fact that they have the pretty damn devastating Phased Shockwave Generators is at best a secondary concern.

Maybe.

OK, OK, so I need big guns to wipe out Brennan’s Triumph and there’s nothing better at destroying large structures than something that warps space and destroys the target’s structural integrity. Go ahead and sue me. I have contact details of a pilot who can describe from first-hand experience what it can do to a freighter, let alone a station. I want some of that with me when I knock on the door of that Pirate base.

Jump device charging at – ten percent

I’ve set the jumper for the North gate of Priest’s Pity, if I’m going to get into the good graces of the Paranid again then it’ll have to be a border sector in order to dock. One near Pirate space does give me the additional opportunity of a little extra credit for shooting them down or, better yet, taking their ships then turning the Pirates over to the authorities.

Fifty percent

Ideally, I’d like to do some steady transport-type missions. They’re pretty good for making a name, especially when you make a tight delivery deadline – that gets remembered, and occasionally passed around. Trouble is, so does any form of misdemeanour. I’m guessing that any of my old contacts would deny all knowledge, now I’m not welcome in core sectors. That’s the trouble with a culture so built on status and technology – all it takes is a little data change, and you’re in big, big trouble. If I ever find out who reset all my reputation markers across the galaxy, I might even make an exception to my rule about giving people a chance to surrender.

Eighty... Ninety... Jumping...

Arrival at Priest’s Pity is just as smooth as it would have been had I flown in from Split Fire – the TerraCorp techs have the jumper integrated beautifully into BlockBuster’s systems, as the ship decelerates from the jump the main engines pick up smoothly for a silky transition to normal flight. The one I used to have on the Mercury was a bit out-of-synch; the main engines would fire just a little after re-entry, so you’d get maybe a tenth of a sezura before the engines kicked in. Every time, there was a little lurch. I got used to it, but it was still something of a relief when I bartered the drive for crystals just before we all left Antigone Memorial for the last time. Of course, if I’d kept it, we could have jumped the Merc to Light of Heart and Captain Joyi could have had the drive to get us to Three Worlds... But I’m not going down that path. That path leads to madness, and I think I already know the way.

I don’t know whether to be pleased or alarmed... I’d forgotten there was a Pirate base here. To be fair, I didn’t use the North gate very often in my old life. I had no reason to go into Split Fire usually, and if I was headed for the trading station I’d use the West gate. I stayed out of the way of the base’s occupants and they didn’t usually trouble me. I guess now they’re a valuable source of reputation and/or second-hand ships, so I should be pleased. I wonder; how much more the Paranid would like me, if I took that station away? It’s all quiet at the moment, though, so I’ll just head for the Trading Station and see if there are any odd jobs that need to be done.

Well, that’s good. At least they’re broad-minded enough to let an Unholy Nomad dock with them. Shame nobody will trust me to go anywhere, though. I’m a bit hurt by the one who told me the place stinks of spaceweed, I haven’t been near the stuff since I left Still Waters all those wozuras ago. Probably never smelled the stuff himself... And that’s how it is for the next few stazuras, flitting between stations and finding nobody will let me do anything. Even the Pirate base stays completely quiet, so I don’t get a chance to take a pot-shot at anyone. Not only am I not welcome, they won’t let me do anything to improve the way I’m thought of. This might take longer than I thought. Heading back to the Trading Station for some rest, I check the bulletin board one last time... and there’s a desperate soul running from the Xenon. Desperate enough to get into a ship with an Unholy Nomad?

You bet.

Whatever this Paranid has done has certainly upset the Xenon. Almost as soon as we’ve left the Trading Station, they’re upon us. A stream of M, and something new, a couple of L fighters. M3 class. Last time I tangled with M3 class ships, it didn’t go so well. Though, in my defence, it did have a turret and these don’t as far as I know. They’re between us and our destination, too, so my plan to burn straight for the Chip Plant before any attacking ships reach us isn’t going to work. Plan B is to run away. I’ll come up with Plan C if I absolutely have to, but I have all the time it takes to implement and fail at Plan B before that time comes... I’m sure something would present itself.

For the moment though, running away seems to be working. There were a few hits from the nearest M before I was able to turn tail but now they’re falling behind and, crucially, beginning to string out as they chase. The Ls cannot catch BlockBuster, I’d have to go to them. And now the Ms are dropping back too, at varying rates. I’m flying a wide loop around the sector, hopefully ending up back at the chip plant with all the necessary bits on the ship. Then an interesting idea occurs to me. There’s a super-secret (but still shown on the sector map!) Communications Station off in the North East. It has a couple of laser towers, or it did when I visited earlier. When you don’t have enough guns, borrow some... Course laid in.

I never did get the female’s name but she’s getting impatient about reaching the Chip Plant. Apparently there’s a ship waiting there to get her out of the system with whatever she’s carrying. I’d offered to jump out myself but apparently she has to meet that ship for a specific reason and doesn’t want to go into details. Fair enough. We’re coming up now on the communications station and there is its handy-looking pair of big guns. I pick one and pull up to a halt behind it.

“Can you wave your contact and explain the delay?”

Her sigh is a fairly typical one from a Paranid. Not only do they not suffer fools, they also think that ‘fool’ covers ‘everyone who isn’t Paranid’.

“That would be stupid. Not only would the Xenon be blocking the transmission, the security of my transport would be irreparably compromised. I had hoped for clearer thinking, but I can see it is beyond you.”

Fine. You could take a space-walk, if you like... I can think these things, the important thing is not to say them. The first of the Ms is coming into range, or will do very shortly. I intend to take as many out myself as I can, for reputation-based reasons. But, if I need to, I have this big ugly beam cannon to use as backup. Let’s see how quickly the Xenon software reacts...

Boosting to maximum just before I come into firing range, I’ve already started firing. The PACs make short work of the M’s shields and a brief burst from the lateral thrusters takes us out of the way of its return fire. A second salvo finishes it off. So far, so good. Second is coming up – and it’s clear they haven’t learned anything new since the last time I did this. It falls as quickly as the first but now my weapon energy is getting a bit low. The next two are almost together – with a full energy bank I’d consider it, but for now I’m going to be discreet and (ahem) valiantly hide behind the station. A bright bar of energy leaves a burning line on my retinas as the beam cannon opens up and reduces one of the Ms to little more than sparkling dust. The second tower has taken notice and started turning to orient on the threat but doesn’t get chance as its compatriot fires again.

Two Ms left, and the Ls are now beginning to close on us as well. By now, the PACs are fully charged so it’s in again with all guns blazing. The Ms are in line-astern but that’s no real problem. Firing at extreme range, they’re too slow to dodge – or more likely too target-fixated, or the software doesn’t check for incoming fire until the target is in range, or something. Whatever it is, they run head-first into a full bank of PAC fire. The first ship explodes satisfyingly, leaving a spinning crate – which is promptly run into by the following M. Damn you, that could have been valuable! Furious, I fire another broadside and the M falls apart. Its shields had been badly hit by the crate, but I still don’t have a lot of energy left and now the two Ls are getting close. Back behind the station for us...

The Ls aren’t waiting to reach HEPT range. Two almost simultaneous missile warning messages stumble over each other, but I get the point. I know the laser towers won’t pick them up, I’ll have to either get them to hit the station or take them out myself. Scanning rapidly through nearby enemies, I spot the pair of inbound Hornets. At least they’re fairly slow... Taking careful aim I line up on the first, drift out from behind the laser tower and start shooting. The monitor shows my shots sizzling past the missile but not making contact. Second barrage is well wide, as is the third. Running out of time here... Fourth salvo detonates the Hornet though, and I’ve located the other one. This time the aim is better and one of the first salvo’s shots shatters the casing and there’s a large explosion ahead.

Everything flashes green in the cockpit. Shields critical.

Suddenly I’m left feeling very much an inferior being. And I thought the Xenon were target-fixated? Boosting out of position I start a wild series of strafe-adjusted rolls to throw off the L’s aim- it does, and it also throws off the balance of my Paranid passenger. She’s most definitely not keen on all this random manoeuvring but I assure her she would be even less keen on being hit by more HEP at this time. At least the shields are climbing back out of the danger-zone.

Suddenly everything goes bright white and I’m temporarily blinded. shields critical.

So much for the shields recovering... I don’t know what just happened but I still can’t see – aiming generally away from where I think the station is I keep rolling, pitching and strafing into a loose spiral while I wait for my overloaded retinas to recover. After a few sezuras of near panic I start to get a little bit of sight back, just enough to recognise I need to turn to avoid the Communications Station, right now, or we’ll be pancaked on its shields.

A little more detail becomes clear and I can see we’ve lost some of the hull. It’s not affected integrity too much, she’s still holding together at 199m/s but I’m now sure I won’t make anything on this trip. Another white flash, and the nearer L explodes into shards- but it’s left a crate. That might help finances a little, if I’m still around to pick it up. And the flash gives me a clue – I must have been right on top of that cannon when it fired, which is why I lost all shields and some bits of ship. Note to self- avoid pointy-end of laser towers. Important safety tip. Just the one L to go, and it’s in range of the towers. I’ll have to make fast work of it, or lose the kill to... Oh. Too late. The L ran into the patch covered by both towers, and now it’s gone. Still, that’s two crates of Hornet missiles – I’m about to move in and pick them up when my passenger reminds me she has a ship to catch.

To the hells with her and her schedule. Looking after her has cost me some hull, I need all the cash I can get. It’s the work of less than a mizura to scoop the pair of Hornets, and the 20k they’re worth will go some way towards repairing the Buster. We’re a long way from the Chip plant though, so I jump to the South gate and fire the boost extension. As I’m lining up on final approach for docking, my passenger waves her transport that she’s almost there and “will be arriving within the mizura as long as her feeble-minded pilot can successfully avoid deactivating the autopilot and crashing the vessel”.

Frankly, I’m ecstatic to see the back of her. The additional four thousand Cr. will barely make a dent in the dents the Buster has already. And worse, all of that effort and it’s barely touched my reputation. It’s going to be a long haul...